


Loyalty

by msdaphne



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Headspace, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-01-30
Packaged: 2018-05-17 02:46:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdaphne/pseuds/msdaphne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's left of Poe after Kylo's interrogation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

No. Hell no. _Not like this, come back and fight like a human, motherfucker!_ He grabs for what was stolen, but it's too late. The Sith's retreat is like a knife being pulled from his brain, leaving a deep stinging wound and blood pouring across his vision. Just one snapshot, the droid accepting the chip. A memory of a moment, just a couple of seconds. And with it was gone his very reason for being.

  
The Resistance was all he'd ever known and loved, and his loyalty to it was the only thing that made him _good_. Loyalty to the Resistance had kept him alive. It was his better half. The source of all his courage. It's what brought him here in the first place. And now it had been taken from him.

  
How many times had loyalty saved his life? How many times had he swayed to the seduction of hypothermia, or blood loss or oxygen sickness? It was loyalty that had kept his eyes open, his thumb on the mic and his voice whispering out to those that needed him alive. _That love you. No, that needed me._ How many times had he drowned his grief in a bottle, and wanted to drown himself along with it- but loyalty insisted that a nerve-shot alcoholic ex-pilot would be a burden to his comrades. And that the dead deserved to be remembered.

  
So how will _he_ be remembered? _They'll miss you so, so much._ Last person they thought would betray them. _But you didn't. Please, you didn't!_   He'll never make it off this ship, but if he could, he'd go back, crawl back, tell them everything, and execution would be too good for him. Spitting, punching, kicking- kick me til I stop moving, mop the hangar floor with me-  _ok, Commander Drama, if that makes you feel better_  -throw me out past the perimeter to freeze, not even the gnafs will touch me _I don't think there are any gnafs on D'Qar._ Shut up.

  
Not that he'll ever make it back, but- what _would_ they do to him? _Clean you. Feed you. Hold you tight. Treat your wounds. Put you in therapy. Lots of therapy._

  
Fucking therapy. Whatever. He's never getting off this ship anyway. He hopes they kill him soon, while the Sith is still preoccupied with the map. No-one else is gonna get anything out of him. Sooner is better. Blaster shot to the skull. _Not the temple. Make me suck it._ A thousand cuts would be fine too. Pummel me to death with those taser club things. Boot to the windpipe- _*flinch* maybe not that._ Whatever. Soon though.

  
His body. Dead. Inert. Not his anymore. Ha. That will be a loss to the galaxy. _That's the spirit!_   What will they do- no really, what _do_ they do? Jettison him? Probably toss him in the fermenter with the rest of the bio waste. Ha. Stormtroopers, drinking water recycled from his body. Haha. _Your brain is damaged._ No, wait- they should eat him. _Haha Eat Me. Get it?_   The thought delights him. He might have just laughed out loud. _Shhh. You're getting stupid._ Love to see the lucky guy that gets _this_ on his plate. He grinds against the crotch of his pants. It feels good.

  
__________ 

  
Loyalty had been his better half, and this is what's left without it. A slutty, thirsty masochist. He's not yet circling the filthy drain that _will always have_ taken him out of this world, but luxuriating in the way it pulls and stretches him. He grinds a couple more times. The only tragedy here is all the life forms he's never made it with.

  
___________ 

  
A thought. A smirk. His eyes widen, mugging for a listener that isn't there. How about. _A stormtrooper_.  Snicker. Now there's a story. _Too bad no-one will ever hear it._

  
But really, how _do_ they do it? Everyone wants to know, but no-one wants to do the research. Their sex lives are the stuff of jokes and ribaldry. And the stuff of of porn, too. _Unh_ He's seen a few pornos with prisoner/trooper storylines. _You're sick._ He told himself it was ok to watch, because that sort of thing doesn't happen in the Resistance. _But you know damn well it's happening all over the galaxy._

  
The cheap ones are awkward and contrived, prisoners trading sex for small favors, like extra food or clean clothes or skipping some prescribed punishment. They're terribly acted and he's usually annoyed with himself afterward.

  
Then there's the other ones. _The ones that really get you off._   Shoving, choking, struggling. Token gestures that check off a _consent-ish_ box for his conscience: calculated provocation, everyone comes. _Banthashit, you know exactly what you're watching._ It gets him off _so hard_ , and leaves him feeling _so sick_. The thought of it draws his lips back in disgust, even as his cock swells.

  
He probably hasn't much choice in how this is gonna go, if it goes at all. _You can do it._

  
He's pretty sure the shitty porno dialogue is not gonna help here. It works in cantinas sometimes, but only on people with a sense of humor. Pretty sure if he just speaks up out of the blue and makes an offer, the dimwitted guards will simply turn him down and report him. It's gotta be like picking someone up anywhere else- the chemistry has to be there.

  
How much time does he have? _You can do this, boy._

  
He faces straight ahead and strains to the corners of his eyes to make out the unmoving white mass at the door. Closes his eyes. Inhales deeply. Feels the restraints. They're _his_ tools, now. He thinks about his trapped body, his bloody face, how fucking hot he is. He thinks about the guard at the door. Tilting back the table he's strapped to. Thick armored gloves shoving at his body, pressing hard on fresh wounds.

  
_I'll finally find out.. do they take all the armor off, or just- Shhhh. Don't think about it. Just think about what you want._

  
A brusque hand between his thighs, finding his already painfully bent erection and * _wince_ * crushing it. Smooth plastic against his face, thumb against his lips, pulling his jaw open... He's in the zone, now. His head rolls to one side, his lips part, he licks his teeth - _unh, why isn't there a cock in my mouth right now?_   He thinks past the guard at the door, to the whole cell block, even deeper into the ship. _Someone here wants this. Someone here needs this_. His skin flushing, temperature rising, sweat and musk evaporating, molecules slipping past the hems of his clothes and wafting up into the air supply.

  
The wait will be unbearable, so he allows his mind to check out, disembodied snapshots of sucking and fucking swirling around like cherubs, escorting him to a shallow sleep. He leaves his body to its mission. Pheremones pumping, elevated pulse, he's glowing like a nav beacon.

  
_Someone here wants this. Someone here needs this_. His thighs flex and contract slowly, like a pulsar; slow, shallow breath wisps through barely parted lips. He radiates the fundamental message, like any animal in heat, on any planet, all his ancestors, from his own parents back to the first-and-now-extinct life in the galaxy, he radiates the signal:

  
_Fuck me ... fuck me ... fuck me ..._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue. I couldn't not.

The cell door slides open.

A trooper strides in, turns on his heel to face his identical counterpart. Taps him on the shoulder, jerks his head toward the corridor. The guard takes a step forward, turns neatly, and walks out. 

The new guard takes his place, steps back against the wall, ramrod straight. Helmet straight forward. Still as a statue.

Poe can hear his breath through the mask. Slow. Shallow.

The door slides closed.


End file.
